26 March

I took the hens into the bush today, Wilma leading the charge over the bridge.  She has got over whatever spooked her on the day I cleaned the coop and is up there with Mabel at the top of the pecking order, allowing Maude and Goldie no liberties, and then, too, she has always been the most accustomed of the hens to going into the bush, after the lonely days when she had no flock and our daily spider hunt was her greatest comfort.  We had some good spider finds this morning, Maude and Wilma particularly good at waiting for me to lift a log, ready to dart in, but all four hens were very happy to put the hard work in themselves once all the logs had been shifted, each of them finding patches of leaves to kick aside, and keeping an eye on each other’s finds.  When the three smaller hens decided it was time to go back over the bridge, Maude hurrying to catch up with the others, Mabel and Goldie cautiously checking over the side of the bridge as always.  Wilma and I stayed for a little while longer in the bush, but it was me, not Wilma, who was looking for consolation today, and the loneliness hit harder when I left the house and followed empty streets down to the coast,  missing my children who are quarantined in homes of their own, and missing the years when they were smaller and closer.